A Revolution
by Rosie O'Reilly
Summary: Another assignment for my humanities class. We had to describe place and setting to an alien (aka our gnome Joel) who has no sense of feeling or human emotions. Very difficult. I'm not entirely sure if I nailed it, or what direction this piece took, exactly. The beginning two paragraphs and the end paragraph were adapted from Pico Iyer's Living in the Transit Lounge. Enjoy!


_**No copyright infringement intended. The first two paragraphs and the very last one were adapted from Pico Iyer's 'Living in the Transit Lounge.'**_

* * *

By the time I was eight, I was already used to trains, boats, bridges, and telecommunication. Throughout the time I was growing up, I was never more than a hairsbreadth away from current news—and came, therefore, a revolution. From the time I was a teenager, I took for granted that I would always be knowledgeable.

It was only recently that I realized all these habits of mind and life would scarcely be imaginable in my parents' youth; that the very facts and facilities that shape my world are distinctly new, and mark me as a modern type.

The first time I ever received a telegraph was courtesy of Jack Kelly. The new Manhattan leader had sent one of his birds to Brooklyn to fetch me and let me know that Medda had a telegram waiting for me. I hitched it on a trolley over to Irving Hall. I would have walked, but it sounded kind of important, and trolleys were ten times faster. Once there, Medda showed me where she kept her telegraph machine, and I sat down on the uncomfortable, hard, wooden chair, staring at the strange contraption, stumped. _How da hell do I work dis thing?_ I thought, sitting there for what seemed like hours. After inspecting it and finally getting the dots to connect, I began slowly typing away, using the chart to make sure I was typing the correct numbers and actually forming coherent sentences. I leaned back, thinking, and just listened to all the noises in the background; Medda's singing, the murmur of the crowd, the rustle and _whoosh_ of the backup girls' skirts as they brushed past me. Between now and the time Jack had first introduced me to this place, everything ad stayed the exact same. I liked it that way, when the world was changing so rapidly around you, but the places you visited most remained stoic.

Once, Trousers and I got to ride in a carriage. It was as the very end of the Strike of 1899, and Teddy Roosevelt had swooped in and saved the day. I'd ridden on the backs of trolleys before, out of view of the conductor, so I could get to places quicker, but they were never any good for watching the city, because everything just whizzed past you. Carriages were the more 'traditional' mode of transportation, but nobody cared about traditional anymore. Surprisingly, the ride wasn't as bumpy as I'd expected. I observed Trousers, sitting across from me, eyes wide with wonder and mouth agape. I felt that way on the inside. I was amazed at how _different_ everything was. Walking was just—well, walking, and trolleys were nice for speed, but carriages were the perfect pace. You could see over people's heads, through the trees, and when we got closer to the docks of Brooklyn, where the sky met the ocean.

In 1906, Trousers and I ate dinner at Bryan Denton's house. The Sun—the paper Denton wrote for—was doing a piece on Trousers' book on our lives as newsies. It was pretty exciting. After the interview, I discovered his telephone. Curiously, I picked it up and began examining it. As a voice started sounding from it, I dropped it like it had burned me.

"Oh, that's just the operator," Denton said glancing over at me. "Just tell her with whom you'd like to speak, and she'll connect you."

"Anybody?"

"Anybody you wish."

I picked it up again and told her Michael Creech in Denver. Formerly nicknamed Skittery, he was our favorite pessimist. Talking to him was a grand experience, but it was strange to hear a disembodied voice. What if you forgot what a body looked like because you hadn't seen them in so long? Skittery was doing swell. Next, we tried contacting Jack. But he was out at the moment, catching his break, living his dream, finding his future, and breaking his back for his sake instead of someone else's. in 1910, we bought our first car. Trousers and I had long since been married. Our fourth child was on the way, and our eldest, six year old Bridgette was due to start school in September. With our growing family, our tiny apartment was already cramped enough already. So, with the inheritance money my uncle had left me, we went and bought a house, but the miles between the school and our house were too numerous to walk multiple times a day, and no trolleys or trains ran through our neighborhood. As a surprise for Trouser and the kids, I brought my newly paid for car home. The feeling of buying something entirely off my own earnings, not some inheritance or with Trousers' help was immense. It was exhilarating. That Model-T was my pride and joy. I made sure it was oiled up all nice and shiny. On weeknights, I'd take my three daughters into the city to eat ice cream and go 'sightseeing', and on the weekends, I'd take my wife out just to show off.

In 1901, I was involved in the Philippine- American war. In 1917, the United States decided to get their hands dirty in World War I. In the Philippine- American war, the guns they gave us were of little use. All the humidity had the gunpowder drenched, so most of the combat was hand to hand. Sixteen years after my first war, the weapons were much more… deadly. In the Philippines, most men died of disease because of the moisture, but here, it was gruesome. Mend blown to pieces were carried in, whole halves of their faces missing, third degree burns everywhere. I was one of the lucky ones, getting out with two bullets in me; one in my thigh and another in my shoulder. Things were more effective and efficient, and that was unnerving. I mostly supported the advancement of technology, but this… this was barbaric. In this case, the old ways were definitely better.

In 1922, we purchased our first radio. As the kids finished their homework after dinner, I listened to my news program, and as the last words faded from the air, I switched the dial. And just like that, the kids assumed their positions. They'd act out their favorite drama hysterically, painting the room with laughter. I was grateful for moments like this, for it kept Trousers' mind off the fact that her three daughters could get caught up in the wrong crowds at any moment, especially with the Prohibition going on.

It was only recently, in fact, that I realized I am an example, perhaps, of an entirely new breed of people, technological revolutionaries. No one would, no one tried to, and no one could ever stop us.


End file.
